The Hour continued
by GeneFlowers
Summary: Continuation of the BBC2 drama 'The Hour' set straight after episode 6. Bel has been fired, but 'The Hour' was still a triumph, and as a result the 'men in black suits' are still out to get Bel, Freddie and the rest. Bel/Freddie Bel/Hector Please R&R *ON PERMANENT HIATUS UNLESS I FIND MY NOTEBOOK*
1. A Noble Profession

**A/N: The first chapter of my story which is a continuation of the BBC2 drama 'The Hour', following on directly from the end of episode 6 ("Come on, we've got a story to write). I'm hoping will put a sub-category for this TV show in sometime soon, but until then I'm just going to have to put this under Misc. TV. Apparently, it has been confirmed that a second series is being written (Wahoo!), but that it may be set in 1958 (some two years after the end of the first series), so I thought I'd try and fill in the possible 'gaps', such as they are, and hopefully write a bloody good story at the same time! Well, I hope so, anyway. It was a great programme with some amazing characters, but Freddie most of all (he's just lovely, isn't he? And have you _seen _that hair?).**

**So this is written for my friend Lucy, who is quite possibly nearly as obsessed with Freddie as I am ;) (I'd better get a great review now Lucy!)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Hour' or any of the characters mentioned. What I would do if I owned Mr Lyon... xD**

**Please R&R, or Angus McCain will shut us down! :P**

**Enjoy!**

Freddie held the door open for Bel and she skipped out onto the street, Freddie following close behind.

"You're chirpy," he commented, disguising a smile behind a disbelieving tone.

"I feel lighter than air!" she exclaimed, spinning on her toes.

"You've been fired!" Freddie said, even more incredulously, although he knew what she meant.

"I know," she said, slowing down, "and I'm sure I'll feel terrible in the morning, but...we did it!" she grinned again, turning round to give Freddie a kiss on the cheek to say goodnight as they went their separate ways home, but instead of turning left, he turned right, following Bel.

"What are you doing?" she asked, confused.

"Escorting you home, Moneypenny. A girl can't be too careful, out on the streets on her own at night," he said, only half-mockingly, considering the events of the past few months – being followed everywhere, the phones being bugged, Ruthie's murder – who knows, someone (Angus McCain, for instance) could have a grudge, a bone to pick with the brilliant and beautiful Miss Rowley. Bel, however, just rolled her eyes.

"That is...if I may?" Freddie asked, suddenly uncertain.

"Of course, James," she said playfully, offering him her arm. "Come on!" she said, tugging him forward.

When they reached the door to Bel's apartment, she turned to Freddie to say goodnight yet again, but instead what came out was, "We were incredible tonight, Freddie. _You _were incredible." She moved closer, speaking softly, stroking his goose-down soft cheek with the flat of her thumb.

He looked up into her eyes then back to her hand stroking his face, up down, up, down, trying to keep his breathing in time with the movement.

"Freddie..." she said, moving in even closer so their noses were almost touching, thinking of so many things that she wanted to say, and she needed to say, and she didn't know how to say...'Freddie' would have to suffice.

He looked back up into her eyes, gazed into them for a long moment, then pulled away.

"Clarence is the Soviet agent. In the BBC," Freddie said, looking at the door.

"What?" Bel said, sure he must be wrong, and yet knowing he was right – Freddie was always right, it seemed to her, although she would never admit that to him.

"We have to run that story." It was said in a decisive tone, a tone that couldn't be argued with, and anyway, she wouldn't even have thought of arguing. He was right. Again.

She sighed and rattled open the door to her apartment, this time holding it open for Freddie, who had that determined look on his face that was so familiar to Bel, that he always got when he needed to get to the bottom of a story.

"Better get started, then," she sighed, half-laughing, knowing neither of them would sleep until this was done.

They were journalists. That's what they did.


	2. The Man in Black

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Here's the second :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and noone except the man in black, who is my own creation.**

**Enjoy!**

The man in black crept up the stairs to her apartment. He had followed them home at 2100 hours, then waited patiently outside until midnight, until he was sure they would be asleep.

The man reached the door and pressed his ear to the keyhole, just in case they were up late, working on a story, or perhaps having a late nightcap. However, he heard nothing but the sound of deep, heavy breathing, so he proceeded to remove his lock-picking tools from his briefcase and began to try and pick the lock, wiggling the tool back and forth, and inserting another to press against the mechanisms inside.

However, after a few minutes of jiggling and pushing and internal cursing, he realised that the dratted thing was broken – to get in, all one had to do was rattle the door handle (vigorously), but doing so ran the risk of waking up the people inside. The man in black did a quick mental risk assessment. His superior had told him no unnecessary casualties, but he had also said to get rid of any evidence at all costs, and if any of them woke up and tried to resist, then that was just collateral damage. With a shrug, the man began to rattle the door-handle and within a matter of seconds, the door had come unstuck and swung open without a creak. 'Well, at least the hinges are well-oiled,' he thought, as he paused to listen for any signs that someone had woken up. He could be thankful for that, at least. Hearing no more noise apart from the steady breath of two people sleeping, he made his way silently along the corridor and into the lounge.

It was a mess. He stopped on the threshold and stared around the room. Every available surface, and much of the floor, seemed to be covered in paper – handwritten notes, newspaper articles, typewritten sheets – the phone was off the hook and there were two half-drunk glasses of cheap French wine on the coffee table (the empty bottle was on the floor and had rolled underneath it). The people themselves were lying asleep on the sofa, the man's hair distinctly ruffled, flattened and unkempt, not at all its usual well gelled self, his tie loosened and slightly askew, shirt untucked and arms wrapped tenderly around the woman, as if they were lovers, or perhaps father and daughter, as the woman's head was resting on his chest. She was grasping on to his hand for dear life, as if, somewhere in her subconscious state, she never wanted to let him go. Her hair was slightly mussed and out of place, but not as obviously as the man's, and her dress had ridden up at the back slightly as she had rolled over in her sleep to lie on his torso.

The man in black stepped carefully into the room, bending down carefully to see what was written on the nearest paper. It was as he had feared. He slowly, systematically, stealthily made his way around the room, picking up every piece of paper and depositing them in the briefcase, which he had laid out open next to the unoccupied armchair. The papers would be burned later.

After he had finished this job, he reached into the side pocket of his suit and brought out a little bottle of pills. He tipped two onto his hand and placed one in each glass of wine. They would ensure that neither of the couple on the sofa remembered anything from the last 12 hours. No unnecessary casualties, although the male journalist would have to be dealt with sometime soon, in his opinion. Far too dangerous, far too tenacious. Knew far too much.

He watched, without blinking, as the two pills fizzled away into nothing but mere particles, invisible in the blood red of the wine.

Then he stood and thought for a moment. No, that would never do. Who drank last night's wine in the morning? Quickly, quietly, he made his way to the kitchen and opened the fridge, where, lo and behold, he found a large bottle of mineral water. He unscrewed the cap and dropped another two pills into the bottle, pondered for a moment, then tipped out another. You could never be too careful. There, that should do it, he thought as he watched to make sure the pills would dissolve to nothing, leaving no traces; he was nothing if not meticulous.

Nearly done. He had one last job to do. He made his way over to the corner of the room, where the phone was lying face down on the floor. He bent down to the phone wire, but then hesitated. The pills would take care of the vanishment of the papers, as with any luck they wouldn't remember anything about them, but if he bugged the phone they would surely notice the click at the end of the line, and know that someone had been in the apartment. It was a dilemma – on one hand, his boss wanted to keep an eye on them – on the other, he wanted it done as silently and anonymously as possible. He chewed his lip and then shrugged. It was his superior's lookout, he wanted the phones to be bugged, and the pair weren't stupid - they knew they were being followed and watched, especially after a programme like last night's. He bent down and attached the bug to the wire. The man on the sofa lifted his head up off the arm of the chair, then bringing it back down again with a large exhalation of air, carried on sleeping, and the man sighed with relief. Then everything went black.


	3. Verda Rowley

**A/N: My third chapter (and longest so far). This is all from Verda Rowley's (Bel's mother's) point of view, so I hope you cna get a good picture of her character (and thta you think I've done a good job of it), since she was only featured in a few episodes of 'The Hour'. This is the information I had about Verda, from the BBC's character profile of Bel: "Bel Rowley is the daughter of Verda and Clive Rowley, a banker who she rarely sees. Verda, a former showgirl who married well financially, has spurned married life, stirring scandal by divorcing Clive after a very public affair. Throughout her life, Bel has been a good girl. The endless affairs with married men were her quiet act of rebellion, but over time she has come to the realisation that she is simply mirroring her mother." Hope that gives you a good basic idea of Verda and her relationship with Bel!**

**Also, on a completely unrelated note, I'M HAVING MY HAIR DONE LIKE BEL'S! xD It's gonna be so awesome! It's too short yet (it'll take about six months to grow), but I had it cut this morning so it will grow into the right shape, and she has hair of a similar (as far as I can tell from the TV) thickness and colour as mine. So yeah. Excited much?**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter, as I rather enjoyed writing it. And thanks so much Lucy for that wonderful review! (Would love it if y'all would review-just sayin')**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or the TV programme. Sadface :(**

**Enjoy!**

Verda Rowley couldn't sleep. She had gone to bed, dead tired, at 8 o'clock, after watching the triumph of 'The Hour' (although it had been cut off at about 36 minutes) – it had, in Verda's opinion, been a victory for Freddie and his stubbornness, a victory for journalism, a victory for free speech, but most of all, a victory for her daughter, as the producer of the programme. Okay, sure they would be in trouble for taking such a strong line against the government, but they had taken the first step in what she was certain was a new age in news reporting. No one could say her daughter was a pushover anymore, chosen as she was for being an inexperienced, easily-led producer – she had proved them wrong, she had proven that she was a strong-minded, independent woman who wouldn't allow herself to be led by anything but the truth (except perhaps Freddie, and he was so determined to get the truth at any cost that it hardly mattered). All in all, Verda was very proud of her daughter, and had planned to stay up to tell her so, but she had nearly fallen asleep in front of the silent TV, showing nothing but the 'normal service will be resumed' sign on the screen. So at 8:50pm, she pulled herself up off the sofa, headed to the bathroom and removed her copious eye makeup, brushed her teeth, went into her room, pulled her day clothes off and her night dress on, and practically fell into bed, falling asleep as soon as he head hit the pillow.

Verda had woken up at 11:00pm, just as the alcohol was starting to get to Bel and Freddie's heads (especially Freddie's) and they were starting to get a little rowdy. Verda lay in bed listening to their indistinct but excited (and in Freddie's case, incessant) chatter, which could only mean one thing: they had another story. Verda shook her head in disbelief – would he ever stop, that boy? Then she heard him yell, quite distinctly and so loudly it was bound to have woken a few of the neighbours up, "Yes! That's it! We've got him, Bel! We've them good this time!" And more quietly, she heard Bel shushing him and saying, "You'll wake my mother up, Freddie!" whilst trying not to laugh. Verda snorted – he'd be lucky not to have awakened the whole street, let alone her. But she didn't mind - quite the opposite, in fact. Freddie made Bel happy, which was more than she could say for that bastard womanizer Madden, and if they were on the trail of a story, together, she knew both would be as happy as they could possibly be.

She listened for a few more minutes, but the chatter was dying down now, after Freddie's outburst. She heard Freddie stretching and yawning, and Bel saying, "Shall we call it a night?"

Presumably Freddie agreed, as after much bickering and giggling, Bel squealing "Freddie!" and Freddie murmuring "Come and share the sofa with me, Moneypenny," there was finally silence.

Verda lay listening a little longer, until the silence had turned into heavy breathing, then turned over and tried to go back to sleep, but soon realised it was useless. So, at 11:30, she rolled out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen, opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of mineral water. Then she stalked back to her room, pausing at the sofa to gaze at her daughter and Freddie, sleeping peacefully and completely naturally in each other's arms, Bel's head resting against Freddie's heart.

She sighed with contentment at the tranquillity of the moment, and wondered, not for the first time, why Bel had broken up with Freddie. She wasn't one to talk, she knew, having controversially divorced her husband, Bel's father, when Bel was 15, but if there _was _such thing as a perfect match, then those two were it. They were best friends, she supposed, but she couldn't understand why there wasn't something more between them, couldn't understand how Bel didn't find Freddie's mix of relative innocence (when it came to relationships, anyway), his charm and his utter obstinacy completely alluring and desirable , instead of simply downright infuriating. In fact, having observed them together over the past four years, Verda was convinced that her daughter _did _find Freddie all these things, but for some reason wouldn't (or couldn't) admit it. She frowned; it wasn't like Bel to be quiet if she liked a man (married, single or otherwise), and Freddie clearly adored her. Shaking her head at the folly of youth (although they weren't all that young anymore, she reminded herself, Bel was almost 30), she stepped over a pile of papers and back to her room she went.

She slipped back under the warm covers of her bed, took a sip of water, and then tried shifting back into sleep.

But she couldn't. She thought it might have been because she had gone to sleep so early, but as she lay there, listening to the time tick its way towards midnight, she began to get the feeling there might be something wrong. It was a feeling that swelled like a balloon being slowly blown up, until on the dot of midnight, the balloon exploded. Verda heard the rattle of the door handle, and she leapt to her feet, suddenly very afraid.

She was shaking. "Pull yourself together!" she muttered to herself, and crouched to unplug the heavy lamp on her bedside table. That would do as a substantial weapon, she decided, should the intruder be an unwelcome one (most likely at this time of night). As the footsteps of the trespasser echoed along the corridor, Verda carefully lifted the lamp off the bedside table, holding the plug so it didn't bang against any furniture and make a noise. She stood in the shadows of her bedroom door and watched the intruder (a man in black) stop on the threshold, praying she wouldn't be seen (at least until she could get to him).

As the intruder surveyed the room about him, taking inventory of the paper, the phone, the wine and the two sleeping people, so Verda surveyed him. She watched as he bent down to look at the nearest paper, then went around collecting every last one and depositing them somewhere by the armchair (she couldn't see his briefcase from where she was standing). She looked on in horror as she placed two little pills in the wine Freddie and Bel had been drinking, then made his way to the kitchen, where she heard the opening of the fridge and assumed (rightly) that he was putting more pills in the food or drink in there. She would have to advise them not to drink or eat anything from the fridge when they woke up.

Then he reappeared and started to make his way, it seemed, directly towards her. Her heart was jumping in her throat, but she refused to scream, and it was lucky she didn't – at the last moment, the man turned away from her door and bent down to the discarded phone lying just outside it.

This was her chance. He was as close as he could possibly be without seeing her, so she prepared to make her way out of the darkness. As she was about to take her first step, however, Freddie exhaled noisily, and the man turned around, frightened he'd been discovered.

'Well, he was right about that,' thought Verda as he relaxed and turned back to the telephone. She gripped the lamp harder and raised it above her head as she shuffled silently towards him.

1...2...3...4...5 small steps were all it took to bring her within 'lamping' distance.

Then she brought the 1950 Talisman heavy, brass table lamp, with an octagonal base, crashing down on his head.

**Yeah, Verda's awesome.**


	4. Black Swan Song

**A/N: And here for you, my dear readers, the fourth chapter of this epic tale. Longest chapter yet, and I wrote it _all _yesterday, some sitting down by the river, which was lovely. Just so you know, the dream was inspired/based on the music video of 'Black Swan Song' by Athlete (which never fails to make me cry) and I have also used lyrics from 'Read my Mind' by The Killers and 'Starlings' by Elbow. They are all great songs, and great bands, so you should check them out, if you want. Thank you so much for the two reviews I have received, would love to hear more, especially any constructive criticism telling me whether the characters are 'in character' as it were.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or the TV show 'The Hour', more's the pity. Neither do I own Athlete, Elbow or The Killers :(**

**Enjoy!**

Freddie was dreaming. It was a strange dream, even by Freddie's standards, and he had had a lot of strange dreams lately, including one where Ruth and Bel had been tied back to back in a dark, damp room on a cold stone floor, with men in black walking in a neat, clinical circle around them, brandishing whips, and, for some reason, Clarence, sitting in a black throne high up in the far end of the room, cackling wickedly. Of course, Freddie knew why now – his subconscious had been telling him Clarence was the mole and he was obviously feeling guilty about Ruth, about not being able to help her in time. As for Bel...well, Freddie didn't like to go into the reasons why she had appeared in that particular fantasy, apart from, like Ruth, she was a person he cared about very much...

But this dream wasn't quite like that. It was different. Yes, it was strange. But strange and lovely.

He was standing in a sun-dappled forest, in the peak of autumn. He heard the crunch of leaves underfoot from behind him, and turned to see Bel smiling radiantly at him. Light seemed to flow from her eyes and smile as if she were a second sun. She really was divine, thought Freddie. Exquisite. Then she grinned wickedly, like a naughty child, and bent down to pick something up off the forest floor. She threw it at Freddie, laughing as it hit his jacket – it was a conker. Opening his mouth and raising his eyebrows in mock horror and offence, he bent down to pick up another conker, but Bel, giggling madly, had already run off deeper into the woods. Freddie set about chasing her, aiming his conker and hitting her square in the shoulder, turning around to look for another, but as he found one, and stooped to claim his weapon in triumph, he was hit in the back of the head. He straightened up, looking over his shoulder to see her chuckling apologetically behind her hand. That's it, thought Freddie, rubbing his sore head, and soon a full-blown battle was underway, conkers aimed and lobbed, some hitting their mark, some bouncing off trees in the confused flurry of the play fight, some being cunningly avoided, and Bel and Freddie are both running around, chasing and being chased, darting here and there, laughing gleefully like children, and Freddie has never felt so alive, so free...

They collapsed, after a while, onto the leafy floor, exhausted from their exertions. They lay, spread-eagled on their backs, jet black head to dark blonde one, staring up at the green canopy above them, and the brilliant orange and blue sky above that.

Freddie had never felt so at peace, both with the world and himself. He was no longer fighting everything around him, the injustice and the deceitfulness of it all, and he was no longer fighting his feelings. Feelings for...Bel especially. There, he had said it. Or at least allowed himself to think it. At last. Finally. It was now or never, thought Freddie, and instead of feeling nervous and awkward about this thought like he usually would, he drew strength from it.

He raised his hand to point upwards, and tilted his head back to see Bel. Feeling his movement, Bel mirrored him and looked into his eyes, mere inches away from her own.

"What?" she asked.

"Look at the sky," murmured Freddie, and she looked up, following the line of his extended arm and pointing finger.

"It's beautiful,"

"Like it's on fire," agreed Freddie. "Do you think...metaphorically speaking, of course...that it would be possible for that...fire...to burn through the leaves, the branches and the twigs that are blocking our view of the sky, of itself – the true beauty of it? And do you think, if it could, would it reveal something else? Just the natural, normal deep blue of the sky? Or would it be more fire, flames upon flames, the endless fury and desire and _passion _of all the world..."

"Why, Freddie?" Bel whispered.

"I don't know, Bel," said Freddie, reaching back to touch Bel's hand. "I don't know. Just a thought." He sat up. "What do you think the most beautiful thing in the world is?"

Bel thought for a moment, propping herself up on her elbows and swivelling so her feet were level with Freddie's back, and she was looking at the back of his head. "The sky," she said, smiling, "as you just described it. And..." she paused, hesitating for a moment, "...the stars."

Freddie nodded. "Blazing like rebel diamonds,"

"Cut out of the sun," said Bel slowly, softly, as if they were lyrics to a half-forgotten song, which, once brought to mind, were easily remembered. Freddie nodded, rocking back and forth and smiling, but just when he thought Bel had finished, she whispered, suddenly so close to Freddie that he could feel her breath on her neck, "And the truth. And the way you seek it." She said it so quietly that Freddie had to lean in to hear her, but catching the words, he beamed hugely.

Bel touched his shoulder so he had to turn to face her. "What about you, Freddie?" she asked seriously, all previous playfulness forgotten. "What's the most beautiful thing in the world to you?" He looked deep into her eyes, searching intelligently, imploringly, for the spark, the fire he knew was flickering in his own eyes. Freddie's self-assured, happy grin faded into a small smile reserved only for her, and he whispered, "Guess."

The blazing star fire lit up in Bel's eyes, and suddenly she was kissing him, and he was kissing her, they were kissing, they were spinning and diving like a cloud of starlings...

Then a shot rang out across the forest, breaking the kiss apart. With a gasp, Freddie's head jerked forward then back, feet suddenly hitting the ground, his stomach dropping to join them. He turned around slowly to see Bel lying on the floor, blood pooling around her head like a terrible halo, and Freddie yelled, hoarsely, incoherently, like a wounded animal as he saw the man in black lining up his next shot, aiming at Freddie. He welcomed the bullet into his breast, into his heart, falling backwards into a sea of blissful unconsciousness. The man in black strode over towards the torn couple, to check they were dead, and just before Freddie closed his eyes and lost the beautiful, dreadful world forever, he heard a dull thud as a conker hit the man smack-bang on his head, and the man in black toppled down to the floor, out cold. After the most fleeting of moments, Freddie joined him.

Freddie opened his eyes in panic, yelling "Bel, Bel!" He craned his neck to look at her face, and, feeling her breath on his cheek, relaxed a little. Then he closed his eyes in regret and sighed. No, of course not. Of course it wasn't real. Stupid idea, Freddie. Why would he want it to be real, anyway? He wouldn't. Or at least not that last part. But...

But he wouldn't mind the other part. The part that didn't involve being shot at. Or dying, for that matter. He wouldn't mind being _that _Freddie; the brave, confident Freddie, the one who wasn't nervous and uncomfortable around love and relationships and women, around one woman in particular...

The one who wasn't afraid of his feelings. Feelings for...God, how weak was he? He still couldn't admit it to himself, even with his arms wrapped around her in a way that would make it obvious to anyone who saw...

Freddie twisted around quickly and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Bel's mother standing over him, for some reason holding the heavy lamp from her bedside table. Freddie didn't know what that was all about. "Er...I'm sorry, I didn't know, I mean...what happened there?" This last was asked as Verda moved to the side, plonking the lamp down on the floor as she did so, revealing the unconscious man in black lying on the floor.

"Shhhh," Verda whispered, "Don't wake her."

"Of course not," said Freddie more quietly, turning back round to look down at Bel's sleeping form, looking very much as if he would like to kiss her had Verda not been there. He faced Verda again to see her smiling knowingly at him. He blushed, embarrassed, before shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a fly, getting back to the matter at hand. "So?" he whispered pointedly, raising his eyebrows at the man on the floor. It had struck him as odd that in his dream, he had fallen unconscious to a man in black slumping unconscious to the floor, and had regained consciousness to see a man in black, slumped unconscious on the floor.

"Oh, he broke in while he thought everyone was asleep; while you two _were _asleep," she said airily. Freddie just stared, open-mouthed. "Put some poison or something in your wine – _don't _drink it, by the way – and then opened the fridge and probably poisoned something else, so don't have anything from there, either. I was bloody terrified, of course," she said, waving a nonchalant hand while Freddie looked on in incredulity, "but I kept my nerve, waited till he was in close range, then thwacked him with the lamp."

"It was you!" Freddie exclaimed.

"Well, of course it was, Freddie, dear, who else would it be?"

"So that part was real..." muttered Freddie, ignoring her, "And he tried to poison us, you say?" addressing Verda again.

"Presumably," she said, "he was bending down by the phone wire when I got to him, though..."

"So he tried to kill us in both scenarios, and you took him out...he was taken out by a blow to the head...wait a minute, the phone?" he enquired frenziedly, registering what Bel's mother (Motherpenny, he liked to think of her) had just said.

"Yes," she said exasperatedly, "that's what I just said-"

"So they must've..." Freddie extracted the phone from under the arm of the man and held it to his ear, hearing a click at the end of the line. "Yes, they've – well, he's bugged the phone, which means he can't have tried to poison us, because what would be the point in that?" Freddie was getting very excitable now, as he always did when he was getting to the bottom of something, and with that he was getting louder and louder, despite Verda's half-hearted attempts to hush him, so it was no surprise, really, when Bel stretched, yawned, rolled over, and, trying to blink sleep out of her eyes, said, "Freddie?"

"Ah, you're awake, Moneypenny! Morning! Rise and Shine! Wait, is it...? Yes," he uttered, checking his watch, "1 am. Morning."

"Freddie, it's one in the morning," Bel complained, trying to bury her head into the sofa cushions.

"Yes, yes, we've been through that already, Bel, keep up! Come on, it's time to get up!" he said, yanking Bel's arm to try and pull her up.

"What is the matter with you?" Bel groaned, painstakingly hauling herself into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands like a tired toddler.

"I'm going back to bed," said Verda, interrupting them. "Don't keep her up too late," she winked at Freddie. He felt himself grow a little hot around the collar.

"Your mother's a little...funny," said Freddie, revolving back round to face Bel on the sofa.

"Yes, well," Bel said drily, leaning forward to light a cigarette, "that's one word for her." Freddie laughed and sat down next to Bel, picking up a cigarette and lighting it from hers.

"So," Bel started again, looking Freddie in the eyes, "what's happened? What's so important you had to wake me up at this..._ungodly _hour in the middle of a lovely dreamless sleep?" A smile twinkled on her lips.

"Oh, yours was dreamless?" mumbled Freddie.

"Yours wasn't?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Doesn't matter." Freddie shook his head. "No, what does matter is – DON'T DRINK THAT WINE!" Freddie bellowed, causing a disgruntled Verda to shout "Some of us are trying to sleep in here!" from the other room, and Bel to say, surprised, "Gosh, I know it's bad wine, Freddie, but you had no problem drinking it earlier. You were the one who brought it, after all." She had, however, thankfully, put the glass down without taking a sip.

"No, it's not that, it's – he poisoned it," said Freddie, pointed to the unconscious man.

"What?" asked Bel, confused, standing up to take a better look. "Freddie..." she sat down in shock as she saw the man, leaning her head back against the sofa and drawing a hand across her forehead. "You'd better start from the beginning."

As Freddie explained what happened, as best as he could, Bel realised something. "Freddie," she said, "The papers are gone."

"What papers? Oh, the-" comprehension dawned at the same moment as Bel stood up to see if the papers were anywhere else in the room, and discovered the briefcase. "Oh no, they're here, Freddie," she said. "So what were you saying?"

"He poisoned our drink, and something in the fridge, but it couldn't have been poison because afterwards he tapped the phone, and why would you bug somebody you were just going to kill? So it must have been something else."

"Like an amnesia pill, to make us forget about all the papers we had been looking at and working on."

"Because he was obviously going to take them away, show his superior what he had found, then probably burn them, get rid of the evidence. Brilliant, Bel, just brilliant!" she flashed him a smile. "But then why bug the phone? If you don't want us to know you've been here, why bug the phone? Do all that medicine malarkey, make all that effort to stop us remembering anything, then get given away by a click on the end of the line! It just doesn't make any sense!"

"Maybe they thought we wouldn't notice it," suggested Bel.

"Hmmm, maybe," Freddie nodded half-heartedly. "Maybe those pills were so strong they would've made us forget all about the events of the past few months, the conspiracies and the lies."

"Would have," said Bel.

"But Motherpenny got to him first," grinned Freddie.

"Yes she did," said Bel, both proud and embarrassed. "Wait, Motherpenny?" she said, laughing.

"Yes. And?" Freddie shot back defensively.

"Alright, alright," said Bel, raising her hands in defeat, trying to recover from fits of mirth. "So, who did this? Who was he," she nodded to the insensible man in the corner, "working for?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" said Freddie.

"Enlighten me," Bel countered, smiling indulgently.

"Well, it could have been MI5, but what would they want with our work on the Soviets? They know all this already." Bel nodded, understanding, but said "they might not have wanted it to get out into the public."

"A possibility, Miss Rowley," Freddie accepted, "but I think it must have been the Soviets themselves, Clarence's handler, boss, superior, call him what you want, that's who sent him," he finished, gesturing again to the man in black.

"So they're after us?"

"They're after us." Freddie confirmed. "Or at least, they're after me. _I'm _the Brightstone, I'm the one Clarence told. Now their intruder's out of the picture, for all they know you have nothing to do with this."

"Freddie..." Bel said, biting her lip.

"No, Bel, this is dangerous, this is too dangerous," he said, thinking of what had happened in the dream. "Don't get involved." He continued rambling on like this until Bel had to shout, "But Freddie, I _am _involved. Whether you like it or not, I'm involved. I produced the programme that got them all on edge; that caused Clarence to reveal who he was, not to mention the fact that it was _my _apartment they came to, not yours, _my _food they dosed, _my _phone they bugged. And _my _mother who knocked out their man!"

"That's irrelevant! They followed us, that's why they came here!" protested Freddie, but Bel ignored him.

"And Freddie...if Clarence was half the spy you know he must have been, you know he'll have reported to his superiors how close we are. They'll know you tell me everything, and they know that you'll undoubtedly have told me about Clarence, or will do, which is why they've bugged my phone and tried to make us forget. That's why I'm involved, like it or not."

Her logic hit him like a slap in the face. How right she was. "I'm sorry, Bel," he said very soberly, leaning his head into her shoulder, "I'm sorry. I never meant to bring you into all this."

Wordlessly, Bel rested her head on his, stroking the small of his back consolingly. They stayed like this for a few minutes; it was actually rather peaceful. Then Bel said, "What do we do now?"

"What we do now, Miss Rowley," said Freddie smiling, lifting his head, "is get rid of anything that might be contaminated, make sure _he's _out for the count," – "There's sleeping pills in the cupboard," – "barricade the door, just in case – don't want your mother breaking any more ornaments – and then go to sleep."

"And in the morning?" she asked.

"In the morning – we do what we have to do. We write that story, and then we run it."

And that's what they did. After all, thought Bel, it wasn't just a job, not to Freddie, at least. Not to her either, in fact. It was a duty.

**Please review! :D (Hi Lucy!)**


	5. In The Morning

**A/N: Hello people! Here, finally, is the next chapter of my Hour fanfic! Aren't you lucky peoples! This has been festering on my computer for ages, but unfortunately, it broke and only got repaired and returned a couple of weeks back. Then I was busy (with Christmas and revision and my other fanfic) and this still needed finishing up. Anyway, did that tonight, and so here is your next chapter! Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews, they really do make me ECSTATICALLY happy xD The next chapter is already written (wrote it AGES ago) and just needs to be typed up, so you should be getting it soonish (probably whenever I can manage to get on the laptop for a longish period of time). So, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own The Hour or any of its characters. Although I did get the DVD for Christmas! :D**

Bel awoke and arose with a groan when the phone rang at 6 am. Four hours sleep. Bloody great. On the sofa, Freddie had been woken by Bel's movement, and propped himself up on one elbow, blinking sleepily as Bel answered the phone.

"It's your dad," said Bel, turning towards Freddie, eyes widening slightly.

Suddenly wide awake, Freddie leapt off the sofa and grabbed the phone from Bel. "Dad?" said Freddie, running a hand wildly through his hair. "Dad, what's wrong?" Bel sat on the arm of the sofa smiling worriedly. Poor Freddie. He was so sweet and protective like this, she just wanted to go and give him a hug. Still, there was no time for that as Freddie ended the call with "Okay, I'll be there soon," and hung up. "I've got to go," he explained, slightly apologetically as he took in the war-torn state of the apartment, complete with unconscious body on the floor. "I'll call you later, we have to sort out all this," he said, his brow furrowing slightly. "You don't mind being left with all the mess, do you?"

"It'll be alright," she said, standing up and kissing him on the cheek to emphasise her point. "Just go." Freddie grinned, and did as she said, only stopping to pick up his coat and cast a cursory "See you later, Moneypenny," over his shoulder as he rushed out the door.

For what seemed like the umpteenth time that morning (although really it was only the third), the phone rang and Bel picked it up.

"Bel? Can you meet me in the BBC cafe at about half past ten?"

"Of course, Freddie," she said, checking her watch. It was still only half 8.

"Good. Oh, and, er, is our friend still sleeping?"

It took a minute for Bel to realise he was referring to the man in black, talking in code because her phone was bugged.

"Yes, still out for the count, I reckon he'll be dormant for at least another...oh, I don't know...8 hours?"

Freddie nodded his head distractedly, forgetting she couldn't see it down the line. "OK. See you later, then."

"Alright, but...Freddie, why so much later?"

"I've just got to go downstairs and ask Mrs B to keep an eye on Dad for me," he said, a little too breezily for someone who knew him like Bel did. "It's fine," he smiled weakly, neglecting to mention that his father had answered the door and, not recognising Freddie, proceeded to try and hit him with a rolled up newspaper. Once Freddie had finally convinced him he was his son, Malcolm Lyon had given him an earful about how 'his mother had been worried sick wondering where he was.'

"Freddie, what's wrong?" asked Bel.

Freddie sighed. There was no hiding things from Bel, it seemed. "He was asking after my mother," he answered shortly.

"Oh." Bel's face fell. She knew as well as anyone that Freddie's mother May had been dead for two years, and his father hadn't been quite right since. "Freddie, are you sure you want to do this today? Wouldn't you rather stay home and -"

"It's fine," said Freddie between gritted teeth, cutting her off. In truth, the idea had crossed his mind – what if his father forgot him again? Was he a bad son if he went off chasing news stories whilst his father was slowly losing it at home? However, his father was in no immediate danger of losing his life – his sanity, perhaps, but not his life – whereas Freddie was growing more and more fearful for Bel with every minute they spent apart. He closed his eyes, committing to his decision. "10.30. BBC cafe. See you then." And he hung up.

Bel arrived at the cafe five minutes late, only to see Freddie laughing and joking with Hector and Lix. Humph. If he was worried about his father and their current predicament, he certainly wasn't showing it.

Actually, Freddie was worried. He was very worried. But, in spite of him being a proprietor of truth at all costs, he could lie very well if need be. However, when he looked up and saw Bel arrive (looking somewhat disgruntled, but nevertheless), the relief in his eyes was real. When she hadn't been there at 10.30 on the dot, he had started to worry that something might have happened.

"Sorry I'm late," said Bel, sitting down, pushing her annoyance to the side.

"You should be," said Freddie reproachfully, smiling in spite of himself.

"Well, you certainly don't seem to have been missing me," she said pointedly.

Lix and Hector exchanged a look, before Lix said "We were just discussing ways in which we could get you back as producer. It's a travesty you were fired, undermines the whole concept of freedom of speech."

"Oh," said Bel. Freddie looked almost smug, the little–

"So what do you think, Bel, shall we go to Douglas, demand our jobs back?"

"Freddie..." she pulled up and away from the table, whispering in his ear, "what are you doing, aren't we -?"

"Of course we are, but we have to have a platform to broadcast it from," he whispered back. "I'll go to the newspapers if I have to, but The Hour's proved itself as an arena for integrity and truth," they shared a smile "and besides, what's more hard-hitting than having the show _he _was in charge of reveal it?"

"You have to make everything so much harder for yourself, don't you?" she said, drawing back, rolling her eyes. "Alright, I'll do it," she announced to the table at large, "but don't blame me if we're all put on the BBC's blacklist for life.

"My dear, you're already on it," said Lix, looking over her glasses at Bel.

"Right, that's sorted then," said Freddie, looking vaguely happy for the first time that morning. "Shall we go then?"

"You can't just barge in there, demand your jobs back and expect to be given them," exclaimed Hector, speaking for the first time since Bel had arrived. "They'll laugh in your faces!"

"What do you suggest, then?" said Bel frostily.

"You need some sort of plan," said Hector, ignoring her hostile tone. Freddie had to hand it to him; he could play oblivious very well.

"Hector's right," said Freddie, earning looks of shock from all at the table. "As much as I hate to admit it. What's more, we need a story. And we've got one."

"Freddie!" Bel hissed urgently, pulling him off to the other side of the cafe. Hector and Lix looked up, surprised.

"Are you sure you want to tell them? Are you sure we can trust them? I mean, Lix, yes, but Hector..."

"He's not that bad," said Freddie. Bel looked half-surprised, half-amused. "What? Look, I hate to admit it, but I was wrong about him. As much as it pains me to say it, he's a good man."

"Typical. As soon as I dump him, you two start to get on." Bel raised her eyebrows in amusement.

Maybe that's why, thought Freddie, but didn't say it out loud.

"But Freddie, are you certain?"

"Positive."

"OK. I trust you." More than anyone else, she added in her mind. Grinning in a slightly terrified way, she allowed an equally grinning Freddie to tug her back over to the table.

"Right," he said. "Here's what we've got so far..."

After they had brought Lix and Hector up-to-date (they had decided not to let Isaac or anyone else in on it, as they were taking enough risks as it was) they split up into groups. Hector and Bel went back to Bel's place to check on the man in black, while Freddie and Lix would stay put and work on a plan of action. It bothered Freddie a little that Hector and Bel were together. He tried to tell himself that it was just because he didn't trust them to make the right decision regarding the intruder, but even he wasn't big-headed enough to fool himself into thinking it was just that. Well, he was her best friend, wasn't he? It was normal to feel a little overprotective if his best friend was alone with the man she had just broken up with. But even this felt like a lie.

Lix said his name sharply, shaking him from his reverie. "What?" he asked confused.

"You were miles away, weren't you, darling? Or perhaps just a couple of miles, in an apartment where there's a man in black as a rug?"

Freddie blushed slightly. How was it that Lix always seemed to be able to read his mind?

"Absolutely no poker face, Freddie, dear," she said smoothly. Freddie jolted in surprise. Well. Clearly. He wondered if Bel could read his emotions as they passed over his face, or if she just chose to ignore them.

"Freddie! Come on!" said Lix, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Honestly, if you're that bothered about it, you should have gone with them!"

"Who?" said Freddie stupidly. Lix looked at him through narrowed, knowing eyes, while Freddie tried to avoid her piercing, hawk-like gaze. Then she gave up.

"Well, come on then, we'd better get going if we're going to get your jobs back by the end of this month!"

Freddie nodded seriously, and forced himself to focus on the matter at hand, and away from the interior of the apartment where he had spent the previous night, where he was sure the immobile man on the floor had been all but forgotten...

As Hector shut the door behind them, Bel was beginning to wish she'd returned home alone. Oh well, there was nothing she could do about it now. She was stuck here, alone with Hector, the man she was no longer seeing, the man who she was still increasingly confused about. It didn't help her befuddlement when he said "Marnie's divorcing me."

"Oh." Well, what else could she say? What did he expect her to say, 'Oh Hector, that's so wonderful, now we can be together!'?

"We were talking about it last night," he said, not looking at her. "We decided that it just isn't going to work between us, not after everything..."

"Is that a dig?" interrupted Bel.

"No, not at all!" said Hector, raising his hands in supplication. "Bel, I-"

"Don't say it," she said, less harshly than she'd meant to. "I don't want to hear it," she said more firmly.

Hector had raised his eyebrows at her soft tone, but his eyes narrowed now (with hurt or annoyance, she couldn't tell). "Fine. I won't," he said petulantly. He stepped closer, something in her unbroken gaze hardening his resolve. "But," he said, cupping her face in his hands, "I do, you know, Bel." Without waiting for a response, he leaned down and kissed her on the lips...

"Have we got Clarence?" Lix asked suddenly. They had been going through the story he and Bel had written last night, checking for holes, for places where more evidence might be required.

"What do you mean? He gave me the say so to tell the world about it. I don't know whether I could bring myself to do it otherwise."

Lix raised her eyebrows, then said, "No, I mean, will he be interviewed? That would be a scoop and a half."

Freddie closed his eyes in regret at what his former boss, his mentor, had been driven to. "I don't know, I highly doubt it, but we have to ask him."

"Correction – you have to ask him," Lix said, leaning forward and tilting her glasses down her nose so she could look over the rims at him. "You're the one he told in the first place – he trusts you."

Freddie took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll do it." He paused. "Is there anything else we have to do now, or shall I get onto Clarence straightaway?"

"I'll be fine clearing up here," she said, waving a vague hand at the mess of paper on the table. Freddie grinned. "You go ahead." Needing no more prompting, he jumped up and headed for the door of the cafe, but before he'd even taken ten steps he turned back to the table. "Lix..." he said. She looked up. "Where does Clarence live?" She rolled her eyes, and, saying "Honestly darling," proceeded to write Clarence's address down on a spare scrap of paper.

"Thanks," grinned Freddie apologetically, then he was gone in a flash.

They broke apart, Bel pulling away first. Naturally.

"Hector-" she said, trying to sound disapproving, but ending up just sounding unsure.

"Bel..." he said, but his voice was husky with desire and need.

"Shhh..." hissed Bel, putting her finger to his lips. Bad move. Hector moaned and kissed the tip of her finger, then craned his neck round so his lips met hers again. She moaned softly, involuntarily, and opened her mouth to let him in. Hector wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in closer, deepening the kiss. This time she didn't resist.

Freddie got off the bus and walked the few streets to Clarence's house, shivering in the November cold, pulling his thin coat tighter around his shoulders and bending his head to the wind, debating how he would broach the subject with Clarence. It was pointless, he knew; Clarence would almost certainly have an idea what he was there for, and being Freddie, he would just go straight in and ask the question. But there was no harm in thinking about it. He shook his head. He was no good at this, persuading people, wheedling to get on people's good sides. Hector was better at that. And Bel. He needed Bel here with him. He had arrived at the house. He had never been here before; it was semi-detached, Edwardian brickwork, but otherwise nothing special. He closed his eyes, composing himself. Then he proceeded to knock on Clarence's door.

Clarence had been sitting in his armchair in front of the fire since he had returned home the previous night. His wife, Edith, had brought him some dinner and tried to get him to eat it, but he had refused. She had no luck in getting him to bed either. Since Freddie had coaxed the truth out of him yesterday night, he had simply been waiting for something to happen. After all, he had told Freddie to run it; it was just a question of what would happen first – would the news of his betrayal be broken, or would his handlers come for him? Therefore, it was with a heavy heart but an altogether unsurprised sigh that Clarence heard the doorbell and rose from his chair.

"Clarence," said Freddie as soon as he had opened the door.

"Freddie…I –" spluttered Clarence, surprised, before he was interrupted by Freddie.

"I need your help, Clarence. Well, I don't need it, but it would be a hell of a lot easier if you would help me, and it would help you too, maybe not in a literal sense, but morally, absolution is in the confession, that's what my mother always said, and it would give us so much more credibility if you would help us, especially since we've been fired and…"

"Freddie, Freddie!" exclaimed Clarence, "Freddie, stop." Freddie stopped mid-ramble and looked at Clarence questioningly. "You say you want my help – what exactly do you want my help with?"

"Sorry, sorry," said Freddie, shaking his head and waving his hand in front of his face. "Can I come inside?"

"Of course, dear boy," said Clarence, stepping aside and waving him in. Freddie looked around the dark, badly decorated hall with interest; he had never been in Clarence house before. Clarence waved him into the lounge impatiently.

"Tea or coffee, Freddie?" Clarence asked.

Freddie took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, and nodded. "Coffee, please, Clarence."

Once they had their hot drinks and were sitting in Clarence's sitting room (Clarence in his arm chair and Freddie perched on the edge of the sofa, a small animal ready to flee at the slightest sign of danger).

"So, what do you want my help with?" asked Clarence, pursing his lips slightly.

"I…_we _need you to agree to be interviewed by us. About…Brightstone."

Clarence closed his eyes, thankful Freddie had not said 'you being the Soviet Agent in the BBC' or just 'the traitor'. He was a little surprised too; Freddie was usually so direct. He could only assume that it was residual respect for him that kept Freddie from stating the truth; the same respect that had kept Freddie from revealing the secret government plans to assassinate Colonel Nasser, thus both ruining his own plan and causing Freddie to lose his job. He would have chuckled at the irony if the situation hadn't been so serious.

"Freddie…I can't," he stated simply.

"Why not?" said Freddie, unwilling to accept this unsatisfactory answer.

"You know why not! They'll kill me, Freddie!" exclaimed Clarence, laying an urgent hand on Freddie's shoulder.

A shadow passed over Freddie's face, and he scoffed. "Didn't stop me."

"They were never actually going to kill you!" said Clarence exasperatedly.

"They broke in to my father's flat and scared my father! Tom Kish tried to strangle me! They followed me everywhere, and I almost got run over by the car that was following me back from the Elms' mansion. So don't sit there and say they were never going to kill me!"

"Different people, Freddie. And I was protecting you from them. Who is there to protect me from the Soviets?"

"So," said Freddie, breathing heavily. "Not only are you a traitor, you're a coward as well. You know they'll come for you, anyway, Clarence, once the news has broken?" Despite his derisory tone, the concern in Freddie's voice told just how much he still cared about his traitorous ex-boss.

"I know that. And it is not cowardice that is stopping me from allowing you to interview me. It is shame, rather. I cannot face the shame of seeing all those people at 'The Hour' – my colleagues, my friends – and having them see me for what I really am," he paused, "which is, as you quite rightly say, a traitor."

Freddie closed his eyes in regret. He knew it was a lost cause. Clarence had made his decision, and there was no way he was going to back up on it. He made one last feeble attempt at persuading him, for Bel, if no one else. "You know, you'd be safer if you admitted to it in public; you'd be taken into custody, and…"

"And tortured for information, and killed, most likely," Clarence said matter-of-factly. "Even you, Freddie, can't stop a government from killing a traitor." He sighed and smiled, sadly. "KGB or MI6, it makes no difference to me. Men in black break into your house at night and take you away. I want to spare my Edith from the pain of that. That's why I want you to promise me something, Freddie."

"What?" he asked.

"Look after Edith for me. Promise that, before you release this story into the public, you'll take her up to her sister's in Manchester. She'll be safe there."

"Of course," said Freddie.

A melancholy silence fell over the pair, each regretting past actions or remembering past times, until Clarence broke the peace.

"What were you planning to interview me on, anyway, Freddie?"

"What? I don't understand…"

"Well, 'The Hour' is history, thanks to you…"

"Well, the details are a bit fuzzy at the moment, but I sort of assumed…" Freddie trailed off, awkwardly.

"That your revelations about me would get your job back again," Clarence finished for him. "Smart, very smart. So, you were going to use me and my nefarious misdeeds as a bargaining chip. Bravo, Freddie, I'm impressed."

"No...well, yes…but…it wasn't like that."

"Oh?" Clarence raised an eyebrow.

"It is true, yes, that Lix and I thought it would lend more credibility to our story if we were to have you on the programme, but…I want you to get the chance to have your say, as to why you did it. So people understand. So _I _understand. Because, despite all that you've done, I…I still respect you, Clarence. You were the one who taught me that 'you don't lead the story, the story leads you', you're the one who, as Bel is constantly reminding me, has believed in me from the start, and maybe that was all lies and manipulation to turn me, to try and make me into your Brightstone, but…I just can't quite believe you did it all without good reason, and I can't quite let you be taken away, and…and _killed _without at least showing your side of the argument."

"Commendable, very commendable," said Clarence, smiling slightly. "Well, I think it's about time you took your leave, don't you, dear boy?"

"Yes, of course," said Freddie, hastily gathering up his coat and tugging it on whilst walking into the hall. "Thank you for the coffee."

"It's a pleasure, Freddie. It always has been." Freddie smiled wistfully, and turned to twist the door handle. "Oh, and Freddie," Clarence said, and Freddie turned back quickly, "I will think about it."

"Really?" said Freddie, brightening. Clarence nodded. "Thank you," he said warmly, shaking his hand vigorously. "Will you let me know by Friday?" he said, backing out of the door, eager to get back and tell Lix (and hopefully Bel and Hector) the good news.

Clarence nodded. "Thank you, Freddie," he said to himself as he closed the door behind the eager, young journalist.

Bel and Hector hadn't returned when Freddie arrived back at Lime Grove. Still, he brought Lix up to speed on what had happened at Clarence's, then they decided that there was nothing more to be done today, and made their way home. (Or Freddie did, Lix staying in the office as was her custom).

As Freddie lay in bed after a dinner of sardines on toast with his now-much-better father (he would have to go and thank Mrs B for all she had done for them ), he thought about the events of the day. He hoped Clarence would come through for them, but he was pretty confident that he had convinced him. He wondered where Bel and Hector had got to. He had a niggling feeling that they had barely had time to check the man in black in amongst participating in 'other activities'. He paled as he thought about this, and tried to stop his mind from going there, but to little avail, and he did not sleep for a long time, finally falling into a troubled sleep with an image of Hector and Bel etched on his brain which was not even fit for highly censored viewing.


End file.
